The paly light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful.

You are lovely, Gerty, you know that don’t you sweetie. Oh pobrecita, please don’t cry. I see your face, so infinitely sad, wistful, but chica your face is going to freeze that way. You’re doing the ugly cry honey, I’m here to tell you it doesn’t look good. Yes, you need to have a good cry, let off those pent-up feelings, but honey. Honey. The snot. Here, blow. You are getting all blotchy and your eyes are going to swell up. Take a peek, go ahead. Look at me. See? Now come on, you know how to cry nicely in front of me, let’s take it down a notch and try again. There you go. That’s better. Now I can give you a nice lovely reflection. You are lovely, Gerty.

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About Nowthenowhen

I am now and not then. Nothen. Death stilled them and me with them. Yet my now moves away away. From that time I make my sense of time. The stilled moment of death. Stop the moving now. Separate it from this moving now, this one here, you are looking at it, this now, not that now, this now. Did you see it? What you saw is gone. What is your now? In this now I cannot resurrect them. In a walled now (in finite now) no escape to them. Where is my shaded sundial? Tomorrow is a new day will be.